


Folie à deux

by The_Fictionist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: At least to start out, Child Abuse, Child Tom Riddle, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist/pseuds/The_Fictionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Folie à deux; a madness shared by two. It's funny how a few small changes can change the course of history - an unlikely alliance, several inconsistencies, a roof appeared on, and a Halloween Night that didn't go quite like everybody expected it to. Harry Potter grows up with Tom Riddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Considering they were both outcasts, one would believe that Harry Potter and Tom Riddle would stick together.

This was not the case.

Though Harry had, in the beginning, tentatively extended a hand of friendship, he was refused, with a hiss that his pity wasn't needed.

Since then, Tom was just another jerk in a playground filled with hostile faces.

Dudley made sure no one would want to be friends with the strange Harry Potter boy, with broken glasses and overly baggy clothes.

Maybe that was why Tom stayed away too, and Harry couldn't really blame him for that.

No one would want to be friends with him when it would just end up with a bloody nose and spitballs .

Tom probably had enough on his plate already.

He lived in the nearby orphanage, clothes not baggy, but worn, faded and always the same. None of the orphanage kids got on so well with the others, but even in exclusion, Tom Riddle was alienated.

They said he was freak.

Harry wanted to say that people called him a freak too, but the other boy had sneered at him and Tom Riddle was scary. Everybody knew that. They'd messed with him at first, but they didn't anymore.

Now it was just Harry, hiding in corners, practising running or becoming one with the wall to avoid being seen by unfriendly eyes, with no lunchbag in his hands to speak off whilst Dudley ate crisps and sandwiches and chocolates of infinite variety every day.

At least Riddle didn't try and punch him too.

With Riddle…he didn't even know what was up with Tom. He wasn't a friend; they bickered too much, and the other boy always looked at him with such disdain for his forcibly low grades like he was some type of idiot.

Tom had once said he was pathetic for not fighting back when they hurt him, but when Harry knew there was greater trouble at home if he ever tried - and so he never did and it the cycle repeated, repeated, repeated, endlessly, in a series of blooming bruises beneath his uniform and scraped knees and some more sellotape for his glasses.

Today was not a good day.

He was sprinting across the playground away from Dudley's gang, his heart pounding furiously in his chest, not wanting Piers to pin him down so Dudley could punch him again and kick his ribs in.

He didn't understand what he'd done wrong, but he supposed it was just because he wasn't like them. Strange things happened around him.

He hurtled around another corner, only for his eyes to widen with horror.

Dead end, bins - maybe he could hide, as they lumbered and raged behind him like livid elephants - and so he jumped, desperately, eyes squeezing shut, expecting brick and wall and getting only air.

His eyes shot open as he crashed into something hard.

He-how the hell was he on the roof? Dudley's gang rounded the corner seconds later, only to stop, confused, peering up at him - faces dropping with the loss of prey, whilst Dudley's gained a second type of menace.

Uncle Vernon really wasn't going to like this.

He felt his insides twist, as teachers began to mill around - and he didn't know how to get down but maybe it was better staying up here forever on his own because down there wasn't very nice at all!

Most of the playground were whispering behind their hands now, pointing up at him, and - Tom was there too. The boy was staring at him, unblinking, an odd expression on his face, an almost hunger, before that smoothed over too.

Harry noticed him because there was a large space between him and the other kids.

They got him down eventually; he wished they hadn't.

He couldn't make it to school the next day.

* * *

Tom Riddle had never been more surprised in his entire life.

He'd been led to believe that Harry Potter was just another pathetic specimen, at the bottom of the heap where even all the other weak, ordinary people didn't want him.

He hardly wanted to associate with _that_ , and he had no need for friends when he knew he was one day going to be something greater, destined for something better.

And maybe it unnerved him when Harry had initially offered friendship anyway. Pity, charity, desperation - thinking they were the same when they were in no way the same except in an unfortunate similarity in age and appearance and social status.

Now he was wondering if he was wrong, if Harry wasn't special too, in his own way.  
Not in the special snowflake type of way either.

That jump hadn't been possible; it just hadn't been, and there'd been no wind to catch him!

He wondered if the stupid boy even realised he'd disappeared for a split second in the air, before appearing on the roof.

He didn't think he had.  
But Tom knew, and know that he knew…well, things were very different now, weren't they?

* * *

Harry had the same bile in his throat and bad taste in his mouth when he was back in School on Monday, hiding new bruises and new hurts that weren't so visible. Just like always.

He shrank into the corner, as Dudley and the gang prowled the playground in search of him, and wished he was older and that he could run away but where he would he run to?

The Dursley's always threatened to send him to the orphanage, and he'd been led to believe that was even worse.  
There was nowhere for him to go.

He wished he didn't have to run and hide, though. He wanted to stand up, to fight, but that was punished even more and maybe if he had somewhere else to go he would have done anyway, but he didn't.

He did what he could, and refused to break and crumble to dust because he couldn't believe he was what they called him, at least not completely. He wondered how things could have been different.

He managed to avoid them on break - he was a fast runner - and then at lunchtime - and the lunchtime after that. If he could run, he couldn't get hurt and that was his fighting back when he knew the one time he'd socked Dudley across the face and bashed his teeth in that he'd been in the cupboard for a week, no exceptions or allowances for coming out.

When it happened like this, as it sometimes did, when they managed to corner him without a roof top to jump to or a teacher in sight…there was nothing he could do but brace himself.

He stared back at them, eyes wide, chin jutted up, refusing to cower because that wouldn't help and he was going to get beaten up or have his face shoved into the toilet anyway, and begging never helped. He'd learned that too, so all he could do was be strong and not let them see the fear and the hurt and just the hatred.

He swallowed, as they grinned nastily, grabbing him tightly as he tried to wriggle out of his shirt and escape, punching him in the stomach, hauling him to the bathroom and forcing to him to his knees on the cold, dirty tiles despite his struggle.

"Maybe we can wash the freakiness off you this time?" Dudley said, and it was mimicry, all mimicry of elder parents, because Dudley was too moronic to come up with a comment like that one his own.

His hair was yanked, dragging him forwards to the cubicle, and maybe this time they'd drown him and go too far and maybe that was good but very, very bad. He took a deep breath, clawing at their clothes and hands still because if he just let them do it without any fight at all it was over and he had to surrender to what they thought of him too, and he didn't want to that when the belief that maybe they were wrong was all he had.

His face was brought closer to the bowl, and the next second there was an almightly crash and he was tumbling to the floor instead.

There were cries of panic and pain, and Harry's head whipped up.

Was that…Riddle? Dudley's gang scattered and scrambled for the door, shoving each other out of the way, and Riddle watched them with dark eyes and what was almost the promise of future pain lurking there too...something cold and dangerous and Harry shot to his feet, backing out the cubicle, mouth dry.

Tom turned to him, and was he going to-

"Are you alright?"

He blinked at the question, and Tom had saved him, but he didn't know why or how because he could possibly hit all the boys at the same time, could he?

"Since when have you cared?"  
He should have been grateful, but he didn't have to be nice to Tom Riddle and it was a legitimate question. His jaw clenched.

Tom stared at him for a second.  
"Most people would say thank you," he returned, curtly.

"Thank you," Harry bit out, expression still a little stony, heart racing. He didn't know what to think and Tom was moving towards him now and he flinched back but Riddle didn't pause, moving to straighten his glasses where they'd gone askew on his face, before sliding them off. Harry made an uneasy grab for them, only for Tom to grab his wrist and give it a warning squeeze.

"Stop it, I'm fixing them for you."

The next second they were slid on his nose again, and, and where was the break, the sellotape?  
He stared at Tom in wonder, some of his hostility fading.

"How did you do that?" he asked.

"How did you get on the roof, Harry?" Tom replied.

His brow furrowed.  
"I don't know. I guess the wind must have caught me."

The other snorted, before just shaking his head, studying him with the same slightly unnerving way, unblinking.

"It's rude to stare," Harry muttered, folding his arms and pulling at one of his shirt sleeves.

"You'll get used to it," Tom said, and he huffed, because he was pretty sure that wasn't the right response, staring at the floor uncomfortably, before glancing back at Tom and refusing to drop his gaze this time.

"Why did you help me?" he asked. "Why now? You've never done anything before. I don't have money."

"I don't want your money," the other sounded amused and he hated it. "I think we could be good friends."

"You said you didn't want to be friends with me, I'm not stupid you're just trying to use me now and I - I don't want your pity!"

"I thought you were something else," Tom said, with a sigh. "And friends, whatever, allies then. I can teach you how to do what I did, unless you like Dursley beating you up everyday?"

Harry hesitated, wetting his lips, because of course he didn't!

Well, maybe having someone, even if they were a jerk, wasn't so bad? Tom had helped him, hadn't he? He could give him a second chance.

"What did you think I was?"

"Ordinary."

"I'm not a freak!" he growled, annoyed all over again, shoulders stiffening like an angry cat, as he moved past the other, swallowing. "Thank you for your help, but I think it's best I get to class now, lunch is almost over and-"

Tom grabbed his arm, tightly, pushing him against the wall with a frustrated air.

"I didn't say you were a freak. There's nothing wrong with being special, I'm special too, we can do stuff they can't. We're better, and they're scared and jealous because they can sense that. I just didn't realise you were special too until I saw you do it."

"Do what?"

"Magic."

"There's no such thing as magic."  
Uncle Vernon said so.

"Don't be an idiot, of course there is. Look." Tom turned away from him, expression going blank and concentrated and -

"The bin's hovering in mid air!" Harry whispered. "Are you doing that? You mean I can do that? I - I can't do that, I mean-"

"Then how do you explain getting on the roof?"

"The wind caught me!"

"You know it didn't," Tom bit out, fingers tightening painfully on his arm. "Ever done anything else? I mean, you're probably just not as powerful as me, but that's okay."

Harry scowled, because as much as he didn't believe in magic, he didn't like the thought of being seen as weak again. He didn't want to be Tom's minion, he wanted a friend.

So maybe he had to prove it, so he focused on the bin himself, yanking his arm free, and at first nothing happened, but then it shot into the air and hit the roof with a loud crash.

"Oh my god I did it! Oh no - roof!"  
It crashed to the floor again, and he winced, eyes wide that the teachers would come running and…Tom chuckled.

"See," the other boy said. "You're kinda like me. I just have better control, it seems. But that takes a while to learn. I can teach you that too."

Harry nodded, giving Tom a small smile, before sticking his hand out.

"Harry Potter," he said.

Tom looked at him.

"…I know your name."

"No, stupid, I'm starting over. So we can be friends."  
Tom blinked, looking down at his hand, then at him, that odd expression crossing his face again, before he accepted the hand and shook firmly.

"Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet you."  
Harry grinned.

Maybe Tom Riddle wasn't such a jerk after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"You haven't been in school in a while," came a quiet voice behind him.

Harry glanced around, to see Tom Riddle had picked his way over to him, books beneath his arm, clothes as neat and worn as ever. He looked back down to the dust he was tracing into - mindless patterns and scrawls with the tip of his finger.

"I got sick."

Tom dropped to elegantly sit next to him, hands tucked over his knees, watching him carefully.

"With what?" there was an edge of challenge to the words that made Harry's shoulders tense and his fingers twitch with a concealed agitation. He could still feel the bruises beneath his skin, not too many, but far too much, and the hunger gnawing at his belly.

Dudley had blamed him for what had happened in the bathroom of course, and so had Aunt and Uncle Vernon when their darling boy told them about it. It hadn't been good.

"With the flu," he replied. "Shut up or I'll cough on you."

Tom continued to study him for a moment longer, before looking down at the dust patterns, before back to him again.

"Do you get sick a lot living with your Aunt and Uncle, Harry?" the other questioned softly. Harry's jaw clenched, throat bobbing. He kept his eyes on the ground, his tone light.

"You've met Dudley," he said, instead. "He's got a face that will make anyone feel ill."

Tom hummed in acknowledgement.

"Does your Uncle have a face that makes you ill too?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Harry muttered. Tom's head tilted further.

"The Orphanage is pretty bad for illnesses too," the other said, after a moment. "I got injections. All better now. I can't get sick anymore."

"You probably scared them away."  
He glanced up, after a moment, gave Tom a small smile.

"I could scare yours away too," Riddle murmured, eyes dark and seemingly darker in the crisp early morning sunlight.

Harry scuffed his patterns out with his foot, stood up.  
"Uncle Vernon is scarier than you."

"Nobody is scarier than me." Tom stood up too, took his hand, squeezed. "I was a nightmare once."

Harry's brow furrowed as he turned to look at the other, receiving a smile in return, a little sharp-teethed, before Tom let go of his hand.

"What do you mean?"

Riddle shrugged back at him.

"I've decided I don't like you getting sick Harry."

* * *

Life settled into a pattern quickly enough, and Harry found he rather liked having a friend.

Tom taught him a lot about magic, in the far corner of the playground where people didn't bother them, with hushed whispers and eyes that glowed with secrets.

Dudley backed off, not coming near him when he was with Tom, though he was more than willing to still try something when he was alone. Uncle Vernon wasn't afraid of Tom.

Sometimes, when Tom whispered things to him, Harry thought that maybe he should have been.

Tom was very clever, and knew a lot about grown-up things, or, at least, he pretended to and could make himself sound very knowledgeable on everything.

They still argued, but it wasn't too bad, and Harry only wished Tom could come home with him too so he didn't have to be alone with the Dursleys. Either way, he very quickly hurtled into being unable to imagine going back to life without Tom, and their magic sessions.

It was funny, though - Tom talked very little about his own life, and largely remained closed on the subject. He would get angry if Harry kept pushing the topic. Tom was much nicer when he wasn't angry, and said that if Harry was going to be a nosy idiot that maybe they shouldn't be friends. He learnt to stop pushing. At least more or less. He was still curious. Tom seemed to know so much about his life, with knowing eyes if not always knowing lips, that sometimes he had to wonder if the other followed him home.

Harry had a feeling Tom sometimes did bad things too.  
He tried to tell himself it didn't matter.

This time was a bit more difficult to forget.

"Harry, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you...what's wrong?" the other questioned, coming to a stop next to him.

"Did you do it?" Harry asked, not quite recognizing his own voice.

"Do what?"

"Piers Polkiss found his dog strangled this morning."

"And I was your first thought? I'm not sure if I should be offended or flattered," Tom drawled. "Would it bother you if I did do it? He deserved it. He always tried to hurt you. And he's stupid. I don't like him."

"His dog didn't do anything."

"Next time I'll make sure to strangle Polkiss himself then," Tom stated. Harry's gaze shot up, eyes narrowing.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Tom's voice had that frosty edge to it again, the one he hadn't heard in awhile.

"No, don't strangle him. I just-do you always have to hurt people? You don't get to just because you don't like them," Harry said, in a small, but nonetheless resolute voice. "I don't like it."

"You didn't mind when I stopped them from hurting you," Tom stated.

"That was different."

"It benefited you. That was the only difference," Tom huffed. "Don't be boring, Harry. I don't have boring friends."

"Are you going to threaten to not be friends with me anymore every time I do or say something you don't like?" Harry bit out, insides churning. Tom was silent for a moment, watching him all over again, just like he always did, with those eyes.

"I don't understand why you're upset about this."

Harry huffed, about to say something scathing, before he glanced over and - paused. He stared back for several long moments, and Tom looked back at him, a little stiffly.

"...you actually don't," he murmured, in an uneasy wonder.

"Shut up," Tom muttered. "And explain."

Harry wetted his lips, blinking.

"Well, because it's wrong," he said. "Hurting people is wrong. It makes us no better than Dudley."

"But we became friends when I hurt Dudley," Tom returned. "You didn't mind then. So it can't always be wrong."

Harry could feel a headache building.

"I-well-but-it's okay if you're doing it for a good reason or defending a friend? But if you do it just because you don't like someone and think they're stupid, than that's not good," he said.

"But why is it upsetting to you if I do it? It's just your opinion on what's good or bad. You can't hate me for not liking the same things as you," Tom replied.

In another situation, Harry may have felt smug to finally find a topic he had monopoly on, where he was the teacher, and Tom looked about as bewildered and mystified as Harry himself normally felt when Tom went on one of his long, rambling lectures about something he'd read.

"But it's morals," he replied. "It's not just my opinion."

"But why do people have that opinion? Not everyone does. People hurt each other all the time."

"Doesn't make it right," Harry said, frustrated. Tom scowled.

"So basically you're still just upset because you think your opinion is worth more than mine."

"What? No -"

"But it is," Tom insisted. "People have different opinions on what's good and bad. People make these silly rules that you can't hurt people because they don't want to be hurt and think that rule will stop people. It's just what you like and dislike, and what you like isn't more important than what I like. You're being stupid."

"No, no it's not like that," Harry began, frustrated. It wasn't, was it?

"Don't see why I should stop doing something that makes me happy just because you don't like it," Tom finished.

Harry went very still.  
"...hurting people makes you happy?"

"Yes."

"That's not good. That's not..." not normal. Tom's expression darkened dangerously, even if he didn't actually say the words.

His jaw worked, fists clenched.

"Does that mean you don't want to be friends with me anymore?" the other questioned, icily. Harry blinked at the question, startled. He didn't quite know what to say either, or how to answer. It was...confusing.

He didn't like it, but he didn't want to lose his only friend either.  
He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Normal is stupid," Harry declared, finally.

Tom rewarded him with a bright grin, flopping back in the grass with a far more contented air now, dragging him down too.

He smiled back, a bit faintly. Something still didn't ring quite right here, he just...he didn't know anymore. Tom had never done anything to hurt him. And Piers was horrible...

"You can't complain if I do something you don't like anymore either," Harry pointed out.  
Tom just glanced over at him at that, no expression on his face, before he gave another quick smile, and sat up again some time later just as abruptly as he'd flopped down.

"Give me your hand," Tom demanded, holding his own out. Harry blinked, sitting up too.

"Why?" he gave his hand over either way, a little warily, only to hiss and try and jerk back as Tom promptly slit it open with magic. "Hey - that hurt - what are-" Tom promptly made a cut in his own hand too, before squeezing their palms together, tightly. It stung, a bit.

"There," Tom said, meeting his eyes. "I saw some of the older kids doing it. When you mix blood together you become family. Blood brothers. And family sticks together. You won't leave me, will you?"

"Tom, you're being stupid," Harry said, but he smiled a little at his hand. Family. He felt a little warm inside. Tom grabbed his hand again, rather tightly actually, and his gaze shot up again.

"No, you have to promise," the other insisted, with an almost edge to his tone.

"...Fine, I promise, I promise, calm down. Now you have to promise too."

"I promise," Tom said. Harry nodded.

"...you can stop crushing my hand now."

 

* * *

Tom stared at his hand in satisfaction.  
Harry had to stay now. He was loyal. He'd promised. He'd taken a blood oath.

He wouldn't be alone again now.

Of course, Harry still had some silly ideas, and he still didn't get the whole issue with the dog, but Harry had promised anyway.

Maybe he didn't want to be alone either.

He was aware that he was...different, and he felt a little cold to realize not even Harry completely understood. He was still on their side, a bit, with his comments about wrong and right. He should have been on Tom's side, no matter what. They were friends, weren't they? Friends were supposed to stick together.

He had time to work on that, he supposed. Harry was good otherwise. He listened to him when he wanted to talk, and he liked having somebody to show magic to. Harry was better than the rest of them anyway - he hadn't run, he had said friends anyway even though he wasn't normal, and he was more special than the non-magic people.

God, he hated them so much. They thought they were better than him, but they weren't. He could do things they couldn't even dream about, he had power. They were beneath him. He could do whatever he liked to them, and killing a dog was so easy it was almost laughable.

The bell eventually rang, and they had to go in, and then at the end of the day Harry went back home.

Home to his disgusting Aunt and Uncle. He'd been trying to think of a suitable punishment for them for ages, but he wanted Harry's help.

It would be good for them to have hobbies together. Pity Harry was always so busy with chores on the weekend. He wanted Harry to help him though, with this. They were Harry's family. He deserved to pick.

It was something to consider.  
Either way, he followed.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at numerous devices in concern.  
They were intended for tracking Harry, to make sure the Boy Who Lived was safe and found no trouble.

One of them had just whirred rather alarmingly, if only for a few seconds.  
He didn't know what to think.

Arabella gave him updates every so often, of course...but he couldn't see anything wrong. From all he heard, despite some problems at home, the boy seemed far happier now, with a new energy.

Apparently he'd always been a lonely child, refusing the company of others, alienating himself, staying very much in his own company and head. It would have been nice for him to have found a friend now, if that was the case.

The spike still alarmed him.

Maybe it was time to pay a discreet visit to Number Four Privet Drive again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

There was a nice old man at their school on Friday.  
Harry thought he looked like Merlin, with a white beard and twinkling blue eyes that reminded Harry of a cheerily crackling fire.

Tom didn't like him - gripped Harry's arm tight enough to wound with his eyes fixed on the stranger. There was an alarmingly dark expression on his best friend's face. It was like a shadow was reaching out for him, creeping out, wrapping around him in smoky tendrils and blackening the world beyond like a bruise.

Harry suddenly felt cold, where he stood next to Tom.  
"Don't tell him about me." The words were hot against his ear. Harry's brow furrowed.

"Tom, I don't-"

"He'll want to talk to you. His name is Professor Dumbledore. He's magical."

"How do you know?"

"I know everything," Riddle said tightly. Harry stared at the other.

There was something in Tom's eyes, something he didn't know how to describe. It was something broken and splintered, confused, and so twistedly dark that Harry couldn't breathe.

"Tom?" he whispered. "What is it? What's going on? How do you know this? Have you met him before?"

Those eyes swept over for him, before Tom's fingers slid down his arm, to grip his hand tightly.

"Just trust me. Please. I don't know. Are we friends or not?" Harry stared at his shoes, brow furrowed. Tom's expression softened, and his other hand cupped his cheek, lightly, for a moment. "Just trust me. Pretend you don't know anything. About me. Or magic, or anything. They'll want to know why you know. They'll take you away from me."

"Tom are you in trouble?"  
He'd heard Petunia say people were in trouble before, and he didn't know what kind of trouble they were in exactly, but he knew that being in trouble wasn't a good thing.

The other stared back at him, a figure carved out of stone and flint. There was still a hint of that bad-something in Tom's eyes. Said nothing. Harry's throat bobbed, before he nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stared at the small boy across the playground. He was sitting on his own in the corner, head turned away to the empty space next to him.

There was an alarming amount of dark magic radiating from that area, from the boy, but he couldn't think what was causing it.

The boy seemed healthy enough, at least from little he could see.  
It was worrying though, very worrying.

He turned away to find one of Harry's teachers, to try and establish if there was anything wrong.

The general consensus was that Harry was a lovely, if quiet child, who had some problems with the other children.

"Trouble?" he repeated. "What sort of trouble?"

"Strange things. He ended up on the roof of a building once, and I don't know how he could have taken on all of those boys on by himself, but he did. Never seen them so frightened. Of course," she sniffed. "That Dursley boy could do with being taken down several pegs. Horrible child."

It did nothing to make him feel less uneasy. Of course, he was aware that there was some...contention between Petunia and her sister, but surely that couldn't transferred over to her son? An innocent? He had to stay either way, for the blood connection. He still had many Death Eaters who would be more than willing to harm the child if he was left unprotected. But he didn't want to risk creating another Dark Lord with his neglect either.

"Does he have any friends? He was sitting on his own in the playground."

"No, he's got no one. I blame that cousin of his."

Something was wrong here.

* * *

Harry looked up as the old man - Professor Dumbledore - came to a stop next to him, with a small smile.

"Can I sit down?" the man asked kindly. Tom's grip tightened on his arm again, as he shook his head. Harry swallowed.

"If you want."

The man settled next to him, fishing in his maroon suit for a moment, before holding out a small paper bag.

"Lemon drop?" He popped one in his mouth.

Harry started to reach out a hand, in politeness and because he never got sweets at home, only for Tom to pinch him, hard.  
"You don't accept sweets from a stranger!" he hissed.

Harry paused, fingers slowly curling, before he dropped his hand.  
"My aunt doesn't like me taking sweets from strangers. Sorry, sir," he murmured.

"Well, your Aunt sounds very wise, though I promise these are safe," the man said, but nonetheless put the bag away. Tom was practically vibrating with hatred next to him and Harry didn't understand it. He'd never seen Tom quite like this, so irrationally wired. Harry thought this Dumbledore person seemed very nice.

There was a silence. Harry stared at his knees, gripping Tom's wrist tightly - the hand with which they'd made the blood bond.

"Can I help you with anything, sir?" Harry asked.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore, Harry," the man said, after a moment. "I was friends with your parents."

Harry's eyes widened.  
"Can you tell me about them?" he asked, eagerly, before Tom could comment on the matter, leaning forwards.

He did wonder why Dumbledore wasn't acknowledging Tom though, sitting right next to him, glaring. Maybe he was a powerful wizard, because he couldn't think of anything else that would allow him to ignore Tom's patented dagger eyes.

"They were both wonderful people. Your mother, Lily, was one of the kindest women I'd ever met, and James was quite a prankster." Dumbledore gave a fond, sad smile. "It was tragic, what happened to them."

"The car crash?"

Dumbledore blinked.  
"Car crash?"

"That's how they...died? Isn't it?"  
The old man, for a few moments, looked very very tired, and Harry felt a bit bad for bringing it up. It obviously wasn't a good memory for him. It must be worse when you actually knew a person, and Harry didn't like them being much gone now.

"Harry, are you happy living with your Aunt and Uncle?"

The eagerness vanished for unease. He didn't know what to say. Lying was bad, but the truth would get him punished.

His eyes flicked sideways to Tom, feeling trapped.

Dumbledore followed his gaze.

"Harry?"

"Tell him the truth." Tom's eyes were fixed on the professor, as he wetted his lips, and it did nothing to make Harry feel less tangled up in something he didn't quite understand. But why wasn't Dumbledore talking to Tom? Surely it was polite to at least say hello.

Had Tom made himself invisible?

"Yes sir," he lied, chickening out at the last second. How could he say anything, when the bruises and everything so often went unnoticed? Nobody cared, and he didn't want to stir up trouble by pretending they did.

Dumbledore had a peculiar set to his features now.

"If you're unhappy, I could take you away from there. To live with somebody else."  
But surely then he'd have to leave Tom?

"To the orphanage, sir? That's what happens to kids without families."

"No," the man murmured. "Not to the Orphanage. Tell me, my boy, does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?"

How did the Professor know Tom? He didn't understand. Was this how Tom knew about magic?

His eyes flickered to the side again, and Tom glared at him. Dumbledore followed his gaze once more.

"Harry, what do you keep looking at?" he asked, quietly. "Is Tom...is Tom here now?"

Panic stirred in his gut, squirming like a trapped beast in his stomach that threatened to swallow him whole from the inside out.

The next second there was a blinding pain in his head, and the old man visibly flinched as if Harry had slapped him, watching him carefully. The pain vanished too, and Tom's chin jutted up.

Harry's brow furrowed with confusion, and he rubbed his forehead.  
"No sir. I've never heard that name before. Should I have?"

It wasn't that Dumbledore didn't seem nice, but Harry's head hurt around him and he wasn't going to trust him over his only friend, when he'd only just met the other. Besides, in his limited experience, grown ups never did anything to really help. They just smiled and offered a flimsy effort.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"No, sir. If you knew my parents, how come I haven't heard of you before? I've never had anyone who knew them come and visit me before."

Tom laughed at that; an edge to it like when he made mean but funny comments about the other children in the playground.

Dumbledore's mouth opened to say something, before he closed it again, and just looked like he'd been up for days.

It was the first time Harry ever thought that maybe grown ups didn't always know what to do or say either. But Tom did. Did that make Tom matter? Tom always seemed to have everything sorted.

The old man seemed to swallow his words once more.

"Would it be alright if I wrote to you in the future, Harry? Would that be okay with you?"

"I guess so."  
Aunt Petunia did say that you shouldn't talk to strangers, but she was always warning Dudley about these bad people who did horrible things to children. Maybe it didn't apply to freaks.

"I'll let you get to class. It was nice meeting you, Harry."

 

* * *

The whole visit had done absolutely nothing to assuage his worries.

Dumbledore sat in his study, wondering if he'd made a horrible mistake not getting involved in Harry's life sooner. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, and Fawkes cooed soothingly beside him.

He reached over to stroke through his feathers, mind distant.

He'd thought he'd made the best choice, allowing Harry to grow and develop away from the pressures of the wizarding world and the competing influences and extreme fame. The boy wasn't arrogant at least - he wasn't like he had been, puffed up on his own sense of superiority and greatness.

He wasn't like Tom.

But he still felt sick with his concerns, even more so now. Because something of Tom Riddle had been there...tucked away. The boy spoke and interacted with nobody, a ghost besides him, which he couldn't understand, comprehend or control.

Had Tom Riddle been there?  
The boy's mind had certainly suggested it, in the small flashes he got, before he was abruptly thrown out of it.

He didn't know if that had been unconscious Occlumency on Harry's side, or something else entirely. Like Mr Riddle. Voldemort.

What had happened to cause this?  
He would have wrenched Harry away then and there, if he didn't fear the consequences of meddling with the situation when he didn't know the circumstances.

He'd have to get closer, assess, earn Harry's trust, and find out what was happening.

That was proactive. Less like swallowing a lemon in realizing that maybe he'd inadvertently wronged a young boy. That such a fate and darker destiny would be weighed heavily on his already tainted hands.

He could have done more to help Tom. He'd been cautious too, then, of getting involved, in the face of hostility. It had always been more in his nature to watch and influence from afar. He'd got too involved in Grindewald, and been wary of such attachments ever since.

Maybe it was time to get involved again. For better or for worse.

* * *

Tom was sat at the park near Privet Drive with Harry, mind churning.

How had he known who Professor Dumbledore was? He remembered, but it was like an indistinct dream, a cloud somewhere in the back of his head - something not quite real and only half remembered.

But he hated him on sight, and he didn't know why, he just felt it swell and twist in his stomach like a monstrous snake until it was pouring out of him and consuming him without control.

He put it down to instincts. His instincts had already been very finely honed, even if he didn't understand it. He'd instinctively used magic, and known many other things.

It was nothing unusual. He was just cleverer than the rest of the stupid population.  
He'd scared Harry though.

The boy had settled next to him again, but there was still a small crease on his forehead that shouldn't have been there.

"Are you scared of me now?" he asked. Harry startled, before glancing over at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"Why would I be scared of you? We're friends. You won't hurt me. Friends don't do that. Friends look out for each other."

Did they? He wouldn't know. Harry was the first...friend, he'd ever had.

"So you're not?"

"No. Don't be stupid," Harry exclaimed. "Why do you seem to think that you're so scary? I mean it's...how did you know all that stuff? It's a little strange, but so is magic so it's okay." Harry wetted his lips. "You said you were a nightmare. What did you mean?"

He shrugged at that, not knowing how to explain it, but knowing it was true.  
"Want to get ice cream?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Halloween 1980** _

_Voldemort glided through the streets of Godric's Hollow, footsteps barely making a sound even against the crunch of snow that should have sounded beneath him._

_He could hear the laughter of children around him, gaudily dressed as witches and skeletons and all the things they were naïve enough to think were scary in the world._

_One small brat of a boy complimented him on his costume, only to dart away with terror upon catching sight of his face under the hood._

_He nearly sneered, walked straight up to the Potter's house, unconcerned by such trivial things when he could almost taste security on his tongue. This last obstacle…this Prophecy child…he'd never considered himself one to believe in such things, and had always scorned Divination as a fantastical art for superstitious fools, not something practical and of use._

_But he couldn't take the chance, not when he was so close to his dreams of power and domination._

_The house melted into view, the Fidelius destroyed and it was all just a reminder of how fickle and weak a thing friendship was and how dangerous a sentiment could be when it was so easily be fashioned into a weapon._

_Breaking in was easy, and he watched their panic with dispassionate eyes._

_The idiots didn't even have their wands out, and James Potter was screaming for his wife to "take Harry and run."_

_They knew what he'd come for then. But they couldn't get away; he'd already made sure of that. A traitor may not be so easily plucked as a rat next time._

_He killed Potter straight off, however. They'd proven…resourceful in the past, and he had no intention of underestimating them this time. He felt a deep satisfaction as the man easily fell – as if he could ever hope to match his power and prowess without a wand._

_Then he followed after Lily._

_He offered her a chance, because she was talented despite her blood and because Severus was useful to him too. She refused him. Several times, so he gave her up to be not as intelligent as he'd been informed, and killed her too._

_Relishing victory, he moved over to the cot, staring down at the green eyed boy who was starting to pitifully wail upon the sudden silence of his mother._

_This, the saviour? Not bloody likely, but he didn't like loose threads and it was better to make sure. The light side obviously believed it, so it was better to kill the child before he could become a source of inspiration for their hopes and rebellion, even if he was useless._

_He pointed his wand, straight at the child's forehead._

_"Avada Kedavra."_

_There was a moment when there was nothing, and then – somehow, inexplicably – he was screaming._

_Torn from his body, the last thing he saw was a shadow in the corner of the ravaged nursery, before he was fleeing._

* * *

**Present**

"You're hurt."

Harry didn't look up, kept his arms cocooned around his legs as if that would protect him from the world outside of his own head. He stared at the floor, fingers clenched white where they rested, posture careful against the rainbow of bruises smudging beneath his shirt.

No tears glistened in his eyes. They just remained hard, almost empty, because retreating to the possibilities of the future was so much easier than the shifting nightmare of now and the rigid black tar of the past..

"Harry." Tom's voice blurred in his ears, and the next second cold fingers were gripping his chin to turn his head. "You're _hurt._ "

"It's fine," he said, instead. Just like always. Maybe there was a comfort in the familiarity of the response, something safe in falling back on an old pattern.

The Dursleys hadn't been happy when Dudley had reported that a strange old man with a fuchsia suit had visited their school, though names were never mentioned. They hadn't taken in out on him directly, they rarely did if he was honest – Aunt Petunia didn't like it when Uncle Vernon beat him out of whatever small familial loyalty she had.

But they certainly didn't attempt to stop Dudley reminding him why silence was a good idea under subtle encouragement and because boys would be boys it was okay and sometimes Harry was worried what boys would become when that was the spoilt excuse given to them.

His best friend sat down next to him when he just continued to stare, with practised movements, eyes fixed on him in silence. It reminded Harry of other conversations, and how they always seemed to repeat back to the things unsaid about number 4 Privet Drive.

He knew they were friends, but Harry still didn't see why Tom cared so much. He swallowed thickly, froze as fingers reached out and skated over the prominent curve of his ribs, with a surprising tenderness that he still couldn't equate with the other boy.

It jarred so much with the permanent ice in Tom's eyes, their hostile beginnings, and everything Harry had ever come to know about people touching him. He could have shuddered, felt a breath catch in his throat, half in pain. Tom's hand froze too. He didn't dare meet the other's gaze, had dropped it away the second his chin was lifted and kept it away even when he was released, though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd find there that he was so meticulously avoiding.

Riddle sighed.

"Why didn't you tell Dumbledore?"

"What good does telling ever do?" Harry returned, quietly. It was the closest he'd ever come to a confession or acknowledgement of the situation, and he soon shrugged it away. "Did you do the maths homework for Mrs Docherty?"

"I think you should have told him. He would have helped  _you._ "

Harry didn't know what to think on the odd focus on the words, the almost resentment that he couldn't quite place, swallowed and wished they could talk about the maths homework instead. Tom liked maths.

"If I told and he took me away, I couldn't be friends with you anymore, so I don't know why you're complaining," he snapped, instead. He felt an anger rise in his chest, though he didn't quite know where it was coming from as he surged to his feet. "It's none of your business anyway, Riddle!"

The other blinked at him, something flashing in his eyes, something dark and dangerous like before they were friends, like when Dumbledore arrived, like when Piers sobbed over his dog, but different at the same time, before Tom had grabbed his arm.

"Is that why you didn't go? For me?" his friend asked with a juxtaposing softness, eyes wide. "You'd – but they hurt you."

Harry stared at his shoes, feeling uncomfortable; heat climbing up the back of his neck. He gave another shrug, able to feel Tom staring at him, intently.

Maybe normally he'd feel smug to surprise the other, when Tom always seemed so collected by everything. He hoped Tom would just move on the topic, but he just continued to stare at him, clutching hold of his arms.

Harry peeked up quickly from behind his fringe, wondering if Tom thought he was stupid now.  
He didn't expect to see the wild, almost alien, wonder on the other's face, as if Riddle had never really seen him before.

He'd never seen such a thing on Tom's face. Realized he'd never really seen Tom in awe of something, especially not him. Most of the time he got the feeling that Tom tolerated him because he was magical and no other reason.

For the first time, it felt like he was the sole focus of somebody's attention, as if nothing else mattered, the world stripped away as irrelevant by contrast.

It absolutely terrified him, as much as it was…nice.  
He quickly looked down again, confused, though it was clear that Tom was clinging to something in this conversation as tightly as his fingers gripped Harry's arms.

"I…yeah, I guess. So what? We promised we wouldn't abandon each other!" he said defensively, clenching his teeth. "Blood brothers."

"I-" Tom opened his mouth and faltered again for the first time Harry had really known him, squeezed his hands instead, looked about to do something else, before he just let his hands drop as he stood and turned away, face curiously flushed. "I think you should invite me over for a sleepover," he stated instead, in an overly calm voice. "Your cousin has them, so it's only fair really. That's what friends do, right? Have sleepovers and things."

"I don't think Uncle Vernon would like that," Harry muttered after his back.

Tom turned, gave him a look, the previous expression vanished and replaced by exasperation far more familiar and comfortable to deal with. Like 'fine' and bruises, instead of squeezed hands and something else entirely.

"Harry. I'm going to get you flu jabs. Idiot. I said I don't like you being 'sick.' Now come on, stop being so sappy, it's pathetic!"

The other marched away without further comment on the matter, leaving Harry gaping after him.

* * *

Tom's mind was in turmoil, and he didn't like it.

He didn't know what to think of Harry's willingness to suffer for him, without truly asking anything in return. Part of him felt that was only the rightful order of things, that Harry should feel privileged to suffer for him, to have anything to do with him. That was an older part of him, rooted low and unshakeable, never questioned.

The other part was…he felt oddly warm, and something constricted in his chest like a boa and he wasn't entirely convinced that it wouldn't kill him. He was used to clear thoughts, of cutting easily through murky waters that other people seemed to find it so tediously difficult to navigate.

He didn't like this uncertainty. He never second guessed himself!

There was a bad taste in his mouth, something rancid which he wanted to squash.  
His lips thinned.

The other part of him wanted to protect it fiercely, to protect Harry in his naïve willingness to hurt for him, for his steadfast loyalty. It…frightened him how strong the emotions was, how things felt less foggy around the boy in a way he'd never noticed he lacked when he was apart from him.

Things were new, fresh, as if shoved out of old tracks and ruts to something more solid.

He didn't like the feeling either, disorientating and bewildering, as much as he wanted to grip it tight and never let it go. Never let go of Harry's…affection either.

It was a mess, and he'd never much liked messy things. He liked things neatly cut in his own mind, to have his strings tied so he had complete control.

Because when he wasn't in control, he remembered getting hurt. Power was the only way to possibly go, because then he never had to feel this way, never had to be scared or wanting.

He gritted his teeth, focused on his new fun instead.  
What was a dog with its limited whines and reactions, when humans were so varied in the way they could scream? Harry could hardly say his wretched, disgusting family didn't deserve it.

Harry had finally invited him for a sleepover, terrified but excited, though he didn't know exactly what he intended to do. But he wanted the pain to end. Tom did too. Harry just said not to do what he did with the dog, not to hurt them, and a variety of other things which Tom tuned out as boring and unnecessary.

It was odd, he'd never been to Harry's house before, despite how often he'd followed him there, to watch as he tried to figure his…friend, out. He wasn't worried, particularly, but he liked to watch Harry's unguarded reactions when he thought he was alone. He was normally so contained.

Tom could understand that. But friends were supposed to know each other well, weren't they?

Now, now he could come close, knock on the door and give the repulsive Vernon his best smile.

He stuck his foot to stop the door from being shut in his face, feeling something cold building inside him again, another old instinct, half-forgotten but never really.

"Hello. I don't like you, Mr Dursley."

If Harry wouldn't do something about all of this, he would.  
He'd never liked the other children at the orphanage touching his things.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I posted this on my tumblr after I wrote it for a prompt, seeing as people liked it, I figured I might as well post it here too :) I probably fluffed up the actual prompt which was Tom and Harry as kids get into a schoolyard confrontation, but oh well...
> 
> If this reads as weird when you go onto the next chapter, or too fast on the initial chapter, that's because it was initially intended as a oneshot, with the whole prompt thing. Um yeah. Enjoy!


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